


Devotion

by Peach_Pit



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: AU, Devotion, M/M, Oracles, Prophecy, Suddenly Boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 09:16:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14041038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peach_Pit/pseuds/Peach_Pit
Summary: Noctis learns just now important he is to the Oracle.





	Devotion

I met Ignis when I was four. He seemed so much taller than me, and quiet; I remember asking if all oracles were this quiet. I remember smiling really big so that he’d be more comfortable.

I remember my father telling me that Ignis would always look after me while he was away on business -- not that I knew why. It seemed like we were the ones keeping _Ignis_ safe, once Ignis told me that his kingdom had fallen. I remember saying that it’d all be fine, that we would always be friends, that we both had magic powers and could zap away all the “bad guys” if they started coming for us...

That was the first time I’d ever seen him smile.

 

When people look at us these days, they always say, “You were meant to be together!”

I take this how it is; we’re like brothers, after all.

We make the tabloids a lot whenever we’re away from the Citadel together, despite our best efforts. It may be my blue eyes, or it may be his ash-blonde hair. It might be that we’re always hitting the arcade or grabbing bubble tea -- Ignis entertains nearly all of my frivolities as long as I take care of my responsibilities. Something always gives us up in these familiar places. Headlines go on about my being the Chosen, his being the last of the Oracles. “Who will further the lines?” “Will these two powerful bloodlines intersect to no end?”

Were it only tabloids, it would be fine, but even the nobles do it behind my father’s back, and with even more fervor. Even then, my father had seemed particularly more and more interested in our mutual happiness since my coming-of-age; it was so embarrassing that I’d started distancing myself from any and all of this talk since then.

I may have distanced myself from Ignis, too.

Of course, I had been there at his Ascension, as the Heir. He had become the youngest Oracle to ascend and was already widely respected, even loved, for the efficiency with which he carries out his duties. The sheer power of his healing, which I had experienced a lot of first-hand, and the caring he shows people, is worthy of admiration.

The tabloid rumors didn’t stop.

For the first time, today, I consider how _he_ may have felt about all of that.

This morning, he returned from another healing trip. We sat down for brunch, and I finally asked him, _“What do you think about_ us _?”_

He responded by telling me _The Prophecy_.

The full Prophecy, passed from the mouths of the gods themselves to the Oracle of Oracles.

I ran from him until I couldn’t keep running. I fell into our garden, fell into a deep and heavy sleep beneath a patch of gladiolus.

Fraught with nightmares in all forms, I find myself awake after what feels like an eternity with a wet face and a concerned Ignis sitting near me, hand on my shoulder.

“Why are you still here?”

He shrinks away as if I’d spat poison. I drag myself upright, wiping my face, breathing out through my mouth.

Truthfully, it makes me sick to look at him. _I should have let my heart be cold_ , I think -- should have closed it to the thoughts and beliefs that he and I could ever be anything more than our titles. I should never have imagined ourselves together in paintings of beach sunsets or golden fields swaying rhythmically in a gentle wind, because the more I had entertained those idle thoughts, the more real I had wanted them to be.

_They will never be. I will die._

“You did not let me finish,” he says.

“Oh?” I wipe my nose with my hand, moving no closer to him. “Suppose the story won’t do without all the gory details about how I am to die.” _As if I needed more nightmare fuel._

I should not have imagined his Oracle dress, prim and proper and shimmering white, much like him refining with age, replaced by a simple t-shirt and swim trunks; I shouldn’t have heard the flip-flops echoing in my mind as we’d amble down a busy pier, hand-in-hand.

Framed against lilies and lilacs, Iggy is the sight of perfection. His face shows only concern and a weakening resolve as his glasses catch the glare of the sun near its apex. I allow his eyes to lock with mine only a moment before tearing them away painfully. Rhododendrons pale by comparison.

“I, too, struggle with fate,” he says, arms drawn around his legs and eyes downcast. “Years ago, I’d have gladly given my life for you, but of late I’ve grown selfish. It hurts me; what I wouldn’t give to have my family back, how I’d throw this small life away so that they could continue to yield, yet now I would defy the gods and have a future with you.”

The thoughts that had rallied against my self-imposed distance flow like blood from my heart. Sunbathing, dining out, gardening. Falling asleep together with a good book, just as we had as children.

We had gone on a fishing trip, once. He and I had caught little, and what had been there was meager. I still remember the way he smiled when he pulled up his own common baramundi, how amused and how proud he’d been. I remember his satisfaction when he’d cooked and prepared it himself.

He had told me he’d learned to cook for my sake -- not that I wouldn’t cook, and the number of times he’s shoved a frying pan into my hand attests to that, but he’d known that the whole of mealtime would bring us closer. It would bring us back to cheerier times, when we both partook of his perfect recreation of an old Tenebraen treat. It would fill a void of loneliness left in our hearts as every day my father spent more and more effort on the War.

This, the War that beckons the Prophecy.

My father had tried to give me the one thing that matters, the only thing I could have asked for.

In all my emotion, I somehow only manage to say one thing.

“Why bother?”

“Noctis,” he says, slowly, drawing out the syllables, eyes falling to soft grass below. “Long ago, I wished, I hoped, I _prayed_ to the gods that you would be the sort of person worth sacrificing, that your life’s purpose might be best served given to them in exchange for the world. I hold all life dear, yet I made this plea with my heart that they might not claim someone who deserves to live.”

I gasp.

As Ignis speaks, a deep loneliness dulls his eyes. It is a familiar look that suddenly becomes recognizable, plain as the light of day. It is a look that is ever-present when our time for the day has ended, a look that endures no matter his body language, no matter how upright and noble he appeared. It is a look that developed with age -- not when we would drift off together with our books and our plush toys, but as my inheritance grew imminent. With every royal meeting that parted us. With every Call to heal. Every day, a step closer to that Prophecy.

“Yet, from the moment you smiled up at me,” he continues, “I knew I would be wrong. I knew that the light in your heart, the light that, it was said, would banish the darkness, was pure. Each day more that I get to share my life with you… I feel it even more strongly.”

Who had realized how lonely Ignis had felt when my responsibilities had pulled me away from him?

Who had known the lengths to which Ignis would go to make me happy in the time that we have together?

He’s crying. “I do not choose fate. I choose you.”

I edge closer to him, placing my hands on his shoulders. Tears falling from his eyes, they nonetheless brighten as they lock on mine. The resolve comes back to them as he reaches for my hand.

“Ignis, how?”

“It will be a challenge. I’ll never leave your side.”

There’s still a lingering sickness in my gut as both our breaths heave with chests so tight. So close to him that I can almost feel his pulse, I allow our lips to fall together, and slowly, our tension melts, to be replaced by something else.

I should not have fallen in love with Ignis.

But I’ve always been his.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm (still) doing some short stories based on the situational prompts over at [Ingoct Week](https://ignoctweek.tumblr.com)! These are being cross-posted from my public Tumblr.
> 
> Please also visit my [other Tumblr (18+)](https://lil-peach-pit.tumblr.com) for fun things.


End file.
